


Of Trust

by virginianwolfsnake



Category: Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:31:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9069607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virginianwolfsnake/pseuds/virginianwolfsnake
Summary: Jerome takes a small amount of convincing to take the penthouse of 667 Dark Avenue off the market. Jacques makes the morally questionable decision to give him a push in the right - or, at least, necessary - direction. Written for a Tumblr prompt: "I just want a nice, easy life. What's wrong with that?"





	

“I just want a nice, easy life,” Jerome sighs, seemingly so unashamed of his own cowardice. He takes a long sip of his macchiato and checks his expensive wristwatch, as if there’s nothing in the world troubling him apart from whether he’s going to be late for his meeting at the bank - and perhaps there isn’t. The veil of delusion he’s lived behind since he was a child is as impenetrable as ever. “What’s wrong with that?”

Jacques doesn’t know how to respond. Soaked through and bedraggled from the storm over Lake Lachrymose that morning, no time to change before meeting his friend for a mid-morning coffee and croissant, he isn’t exactly at his most articulate. He feels the blood boiling in his cheeks, the bubble of fire in his chest, indignantly screaming to be let out. Nobody knows how to test his patience like Jerome does.

“Nothing,” he concedes, patiently, trying not to lose his temper. As soon as they descend into Jerome’s favourite territory, the territory where he’s allowed to escape any form of responsibility by saying I’d really rather not argue about this, he’ll know he’s lost the battle for good. “I’m not asking you to change that, Jerome. You know I’m not.”

Jerome shifts uncomfortably. Jacques watches him twist a cufflink at his wrist and remembers the way he used to fray the sleeves of his jumpers when he got nervous. Old habits die hard.

“I’m just not cut out for it the way you are,” he says, chuckling, as if that can lighten the mood. “You were always so brave. Do you remember that time on Mount Fraught? Beatrice and those eagles, and you and the lions? I was terrified, but you always -”

“I remember,” Jacques interrupts, flinching, because dealing with Lemony at his most melancholy recently has made him sensitive to even the shape of the word _Beatrice_. “But this isn’t like Mount Fraught. I’m asking you to make an investment decision, and arguably quite a wise one, not to put yourself in any physical danger.”

Jerome smiles placidly. “I know,” he says, finishing his coffee. “I know. But there must be a reason.”

For a moment, when Jacques looks up and meets Jerome’s kind dark eyes, he can see the spark of the intelligent boy he was. So perceptive, so intuned to other people’s emotions. He would’ve made a good recruit, in a different era, under other circumstances.

“There’s always a reason, with you,” Jerome comments, as easily as if he’s remarking on the weather. Nothing ever seems to anger him, and this is no exception - he doesn’t mind being a pawn in a larger game, just as long as he knows it from the beginning.

It’s Jacques’ turn to sigh. “I can’t tell you what it is,” he admits. “But it’s _important_ , Jerome. And you know by now, surely, that I’d never put you in any danger.”

Jacques doesn’t mean to do it, but there’s a tell-tale crack in his voice that he knows will betray his thoughts. Laughing together in the theatre, debating Virginia Woolf, accidentally colour coordinating shirts before the ball, that kiss on the cheek and the words that poured out afterwards that scared him away.

Perhaps, if he’s lucky, it never meant half as much to Jerome as it did to him, and after all these years he’s forgotten.

But Jerome smiles, one of his uncomfortable smiles, and Jacques knows he still remembers.

Worst of all, he’s only barely telling the truth. _I’d never put you in any danger_. He hopes nothing ever happens that makes him into a liar.

“Please, Jerome. As a favour.”

Jerome swallows, and checks his wristwatch again. It’s ten to eleven, and Jacques begins to accept defeat. There are other options, he supposes, it’s just finding someone with the appropriate loyalty – and the funds – and the moral stamina, it’s just going to be a challenge in the timescales, but –

“Alright,” Jerome says, after a moment, and Jacques’ head jerks upwards. His old friend gives him a kind smile.

“It’s only money after all,” Jerome shrugs. “And it’s a lovely apartment.”

He leaves the most important part of the decision unmentioned, but his eyes say it for him: _I trust you_. He gathers his briefcase and his coat and promises to make the offer on the way to the bank. Jacques remains seated, ignores the questioning glances of the wealthy clientele of the Veritable French Diner who wonder about his appearance, and hopes and hopes and hopes long into the afternoon that such trust isn’t misplaced.


End file.
